


These Lines, So Well Rehearsed

by finkpishnets



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, High School Musical (Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-16
Updated: 2010-10-16
Packaged: 2017-10-28 12:59:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/308120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/finkpishnets/pseuds/finkpishnets
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Was the Phantom of the Opera a demon?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	These Lines, So Well Rehearsed

**Author's Note:**

> Comment!fic in answer to penny_lane_42's prompt over at lj only it got too long (predictably).

The city is stifling – the people and the traffic and the summer heat – and Dawn’s from California but the crush of New York in August is almost too much. She’s already stripped off two layers, is wearing little else but a tank top and a pair of cotton shorts that stick to her thighs, and she’s still worried she’s going to burst into flame any second.

A woman in a power suit, jacket and all, knocks into her side, and Dawn shudders at the way the fabric scratches across her over sensitized skin.

“Come on,” Ryan says, taking her hand lightly and pulling her into the next open doorway. “Let’s get a drink.”

The feel of the Starbucks air-con is like walking into a wall – a cold, cold wall – and Dawn lets out a sigh of relief, allowing herself to stand a little closer to Ryan in the queue without wanting to die.

They haven’t really spoken much the last few days; New York had been his idea, a tradition since he was a kid when he and Sharpay would be let loose on the city with their Daddy’s credit card and a bodyguard disguised as a minder. Apparently neither of them had ever brought someone else along, not even one of Sharpay’s steady stream of similar looking, floppy haired boys, and Dawn had pretended not to hear the way Sharpay had hissed accusations of betrayal at Ryan from the other side of thin doors, but she can’t help but feel like she _shouldn’t_ have come.

This is Ryan’s thing, not hers, especially not when the texts she gets from Buffy are the short, reassuring type that only ever mean the end of the world’s occurring while she watches Avenue Q and Wicked and eats at the best restaurants in the city on someone else’s bill.

It’s not Ryan’s fault, _she knows it’s not_ , but she can’t help the anger that gets caught in her throat every time Buffy tells her not to worry, to enjoy herself.

No one ever said she couldn’t be an ungrateful brat when she wanted to be.

 

+

 

“Is that a new top?” Sharpay says, eyeing Dawn across the table with an icy smile.

“Yes,” Dawn says, sipping at her water and waiting for the inevitable.

“Hm, it’s lovely,” Sharpay says pleasantly, “it’s just a shame red washes you out.”

“ _Shar_ ,” Ryan says warningly, and Dawn nudges her foot against his to let him know it’s okay.

“I like your dress,” she says. “I saw one just like it earlier in the window of H&M.”

Sharpay’s angry flush calms her down for a little while at least.

 

+

 

“Is it so bad?” Ryan says, the sound of his voice breaking the silence they’ve kept up for days. She can hear him breathe, feel the bed move when he turns his head in her direction even though it’s too dark to see anything.

She wants to lie. Wants to laugh and apologize for being a bitch because _of course_ it’s okay – it’s summer and they’re in one of the greatest cities in the world and they’re in love – but the words die on her lips.

“Yes,” she whispers, and closes her eyes tightly when she feels him turn away.

 

+

 

“Was the Phantom of the Opera a demon, do you think?” Ryan says, and Dawn looks up in surprise because it’s the first thing he’s said outside of general niceties in three days, returning her own silent treatment in a way that breaks her heart and feels like a relief all at once.

“Yes,” she says, blinking. “Probably. Spike will tell you all about the ‘true story’ if you ask. But then, he also tried to tell me he created the Internet one time when he was drunk enough, so, you know…”

The corners of Ryan’s mouth pull up into something that’s almost a smile and familiar enough to relieve some of the tension in Dawn’s chest.

“Here,” he says, taking a plain, white envelope out of his satchel and sliding it across the table.

Dawn frowns as she opens it, stares at the words through clouded eyes before they come glaring into focus.

Her heart doesn’t stop; it feels like it’s starting again for the first time in weeks.

“Why?” she says, and he shrugs.

“Because you’re unhappy? Because I was being selfish? Because sometimes I try to forget that there’s more to the world than fame and fortune and show tunes, forget that I know there is?” He sighs. “I don’t know.”

“There’s two tickets,” she points out, and his laugh is resigned.

“Of course there is,” he says. “Besides, I’m getting damn good with a stake, and I’m pretty sure I’m more useful than some of those girls your sister insists on training.”

“I love you,” Dawn says, and Ryan nods, reaches across and takes her hand for the first time in what feels like forever.

“I know you do,” he says. “I love you, too.”

Dawn smiles, and it feels unfamiliar on her lips.

“I know you do.”


End file.
